


river to follow

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22241986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: Tom helps Benny get cleaned up after a fight.
Relationships: Tom "Redfly" Davis/Ben Miller
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	river to follow

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who left such kind comments on my other Tom/Ben. ♥

"Billy," Ben mumbles, lurching forward, his gaze on something imaginary and far away. Tom catches him around the waist, one hand gripping the back of Ben's t-shirt at the neck and stopping him from falling over. Ben looks up at him. "Where's Billy at?"

"Got your bell rung good, huh." Tom squeezes the back of his neck, but gently. "Come on, stand up straight. Billy's not here tonight, you knew that."

"You're here."

"Yeah, babe, I'm here."

"Don't tell nobody," Ben whispers. 

Tom does his best to get him balanced back up on his own two feet, so they can walk to the locker room. "Don't tell what?"

"I like it when you call me babe." Ben grins, lopsided, made even worse by the blood on his lips and nose, by the bruises already coming up on his cheek. 

Tom squeezes his hip lightly and nudges him down the hall. "I won't tell. Come on, one foot in front of the other, and we'll get your face cleaned up. Make you all pretty again."

"What the fuck, Big Dog, I'm always pretty." Ben stumbles as he says it, but Tom doesn't let him fall. 

He doesn't think Ben's got a concussion, just took a couple too-hard punches, but he can't tell just by looking at him. The pen light he could use to check Ben's eyes is in the gear bag in the locker room. Which they're almost to now. He gets the door open still holding on to Ben, then propels him through, and gets him settled on the bench. When he tries to step away, aiming to get the first aid kit, Ben tries to hold onto him and Tom has to untangle his grip. "I just want to get you cleaned up, I'm not going far," he promises, pushing Ben's sweaty hair back off his forehead. "Okay?"

Ben nods, his eyes closed. 

Tom grabs the gear bag and wets some paper towels, which he uses to carefully clean off the blood. Ben's nose is a little swollen, but not actively bleeding, and neither is his split lip. Tom brushes a light finger over it and Ben shudders. He curls his hand around Tom's wrist. "You taking me home?" he breathes, and the words are a warm soft rush against Tom's fingers. 

"Yeah, Benny." _Even if it's just to make sure you're not actually concussed_ , he thinks. And speaking of. He fishes the penlight from the bag. "Open your eyes, so I can do this check."

Ben's expression is clearer now, and he tracks the light no problem. "You dizzy?" Tom asks.

"Not anymore."

"Feel like you're going to throw up?"

"No." 

Tom opens the tube of disinfectant salve and smears a tiny dot of it along the cracked corner of Ben's mouth, and the cut on his lip. "You remember who I am, and where your brother is?"

"Fuck off," Ben laughs, then winces when doing so moves his face too much. "You doing my hands, too?"

He lifts them, and Tom sees where the tape is discolored, ragged and bloody. "Sure," he says, and gets down on his knees in the space between Ben's bare feet. Carefully, he picks the edges of the tape loose, then unpeels it, knuckle by knuckle. When he's gotten all the tape off, he rubs the drying blood from Ben's skin with another bunch of wet paper towels. "Still feeling all right?"

Ben's fingers flex in his. "Better if you'd hurry up."

"What's the rush?" He works a little more disinfectant over the worst spots, the ones that might split again if Benny's too rough over the next few days. When he looks up again, Ben's leaned in slightly, and he brushes his mouth over Tom's. "Careful," Tom breathes, but doesn't stop Ben from doing it again. 

There's a wave of noise from the gym, and Ben's easily distracted, looking as though he's trying to work out what the ruckus is about. "You know I barely hear it when you guys cheer for me, when I'm in there," he says, as Tom reaches to press gentle fingers to his face, trying to judge how bad the bruises will be this time. "Everything becomes just - nothing. Pure white noise. Like how it was, when we were..."

Tom nods. He knows. "You don't need to explain it to me."

"I think you could take down a few in the cage, if you need it." Ben's eyes are dark as they focus on him, and Tom feels Ben's fingers curl in the collar of his shirt, roughened fingertips skimming the dip of his throat. Ben says, "Fuck, I'd pay to see that."

"All this fighting's gone to your head, babe," Tom replies, dry, but he knows what Benny's trying to say. It'd feel good, for about five minutes, or until he lost a tooth. "How about we continue our current arrangement: you fight, I clean you up after, if you win."

"That sounds good, too. Money, a win, someone's hands on me." He tugs on Tom's shirt, punctuation. "Someone who's good with their hands."

Tom's patched up worse injuries by far; patching up these minor scrapes after a fight is nothing. This - this is _foreplay_ , really, for them. He tilts his head - just the right angle and he can press a biting kiss to Ben's neck, feel him shiver. "You need to get your money before we leave?"

"Already collected." Ben brings his knees together, pressure against the sides of Tom's body. "Stay here, while I wash off quick and get dressed?"

"I'll have to put the Neosporin on your hands again, you do that." But Tom's already standing up, sliding against Ben as he does. "Go on, then, hurry the fuck up."

Ben pushes at the waistband of his shorts - slowly, as a deliberate tease, exposing paler skin and a flash of dark hair. It's nothing Tom hasn't already seen. It still makes him flush to watch Ben show himself off. "Wait right here," Ben's saying, "and I'll make it worth your while later."

"You're just gonna fucking pass out later, and I have to wait for your ass besides, since I drove you here," Tom replies. He sits down on the bench as Ben stands up. The cubicle showers are about ten feet away, and Ben drops the shorts after about four feet, saying something over his shoulder about his plans for Tom's cock. "You're not getting any of that unless you hurry the hell up," Tom calls, and hears the water start.


End file.
